marytkelly's Open Salon Blog

Cheat Sheet for Surviving Thanksgiving

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 14:11:24 -0500

Someway needs to say this, so what the heck. I'm going out on a limb here but Norman Rockwell is a big part of the holiday problem. His idyllic pictures of family life have ruined the holidays for so many of us.

How many families admit to being dysfunctional? 85%. The remaining 15% are liars or in denial.

Call me a cynic if you must, but the holiday season is fraught with tension, fear, loathing, depression, and just plain misery.

So at this late hour, I offer you my top ten tips for surviving the holidays…

1. Get rid of any and all expectations. Most expectations are really premeditated resentments in disguise. Assume your time with the family is going to be pure and utter hell. This way, there will be no disappointment if this turns out to be true, and if it doesn’t, you're in for a most pleasant surprise.

2. Accept the family dynamic that it is almost impossible for family members to see the other family members as they are as adults. If you’re the youngest child, you could be 50 and you are still treated as the baby of the family. While this is infuriating, WHATEVER. Leave your pride and ego at the door. It’s a temporary blip in your life. In fact, take advantage of the situation. Insist on the turkey leg and throw a tantrum if you don’t get your way.

3. Self-medicate. Here are some options: The always reliable alcohol...the stronger the better. Nyquil, “special cookies” and painkillers can always add to the holiday festivities, especially in combination with the alcohol. However, know your limits. Many a holiday has been ruined by those drunken family members who insist that it’s finally time to confront Mom and Dad about all the terrible things they did to them when they were children.

4. Develop the swine flu real quick and gracefully decline at the last minute due to your concern and care about exposing other family members to this dangerous and life-threatening illness.

5. Develop a quick case of amnesia. Don’t show up and explain on Friday that when you woke up on Thanksgiving, you had no idea of who you were. Find phony brain scans to prove your claim.

6. Become a Jehovah’s Witness and calmly ask your family to respect your newfound religious beliefs, which include not celebrating godless and hedonistic traditions.

7. Volunteer at your local homeless shelter and tell your family that while it is a huge sacrifice for you to not be sharing in this most momentous of family meals, you need to share your abundance with those less fortunate than you. Anyone who criticizes you will look like a heartless and entitled capitalist pig.

8. Become a raw vegan and tell your family that you don’t want to put them out by having to accommodate your narrow and restrictive diet. Sound like a pious martyr when you explain this which will ensure you will never be invited again!

9. Claim that Thanksgiving contributes to global warming and in all good conscience, it’s more important for you to support the planet rather than the glutinous needs of the family.

10. Miss the Thanksgiving meal altogether and tell your family that you became so engrossed in Sarah Palin’s new book, you lost track of time.

*Notice that seven out of my ten tips get you out of the holiday all together. But if you insist on going, the first 3 tips should be enough to get you through.

Happy Thanksgiving! Gobble…gobble…

(I’m available for Posttraumatic Holiday Stress Syndrome…appointments only.)

Cat Fight!!!

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 17:11:09 -0500

(CAT FIGHT! OH HOW WE LOVE A CAT FIGHT!)

I had a fitful and restless sleep last night. I tossed and turned…images of angry women, bitter women accusing other angry and bitter women of all sorts of devious and manipulative acts.

“She’s a bitch!”

“She’s crazy, hormonal and psychotic”

“She’s nuts, conniving, manipulative…and she hates me!

Women hating other women seems to be as old as time itself.

In fact, in this early pre-dawn morning I came to this stunning and sober conclusion:

Women are more misogynistic than men.

Yeah you heard me right. Women are more misogynistic than men.

I said it! Somebody had to say it!

And I am guilty of it, by God. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s true.

I must be honest when I admit to you that since I was a young girl I’ve been wary of women. Junior high school was a particularly painful time. I was teased mercilessly about my appearance, my lack of any kind of thing that resembled a chest. “There she goes…a carpenter’s dream…flat as a board! Oh Mary, a pirate’s dream…a sunken chest!”

Insensitive hormonal pimply-faced boys did not level these hurtful words at me. They were hurled at me with the velocity of a fast curve ball by girls…mean girls…the mean girls that were popular, good looking and had actual breasts at that tender age…they were my tormenters and accusers.

And no offense to my four sisters, but there was some catty crap going on in those childhood years and they and I have the scars on our arms to prove it. Literally.

When I went off to the wilds of college, I made sure to stay 200 yards away from any sorority house. I will admit I always had a built in prejudice for sororities, home to many a mean girl (see what I mean…I’m just as guilty!). I couldn’t stand watching the girlfriends I loved rushing for these sororities only to be met with the big Red Reject because they weren’t pretty enough, didn’t have the right clothes, the right smile.

The Miss America pageant has always made me burn. Even as a young girl I was incensed that women be judged based solely on their looks, “poise and grace”. Gag me with a spoon.

My own liberal hippy dippy natural Boulder was home to child beauty pageant contestant Jon Benet Ramsey, the terribly misfortune girl who was murdered in her own bedroom right before Christmas. The outpouring of hatred and judgment towards the mother who had put her daughter in these pageants was evidence enough to many that surely she was the one who killed her daughter!

Women constantly pit themselves against other women. Pro-life women vs. pro-choice women, stay-at-home mothers vs. working mothers, Republican women vs. Democrat women…on and on and on.

And while we’re talking politics, let me confess yet another misogynistic sin of mine. Show me a picture of Sarah Palin, Ann Coulter, Michele Bachmann, or Carrie Prejean and I want to go postal, like UZI postal. I suddenly get filled with a burst of testosterone and I get images in my head of bitch slapping them to the point of drawing blood…. and lots of it! And I get pleasure out of this image!

It’s true…I’m just being brutally honest.

Don’t get me wrong. Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck make me seriously mad. No doubt about that. But I don’t have the visceral vitriolic response like I do with the women I named…. not even close. What’s up with that?

(As much as I can't stand the politics of Sarah Palin, this type of blatant sexism has got to stop)

And while I’m baring all here, judge me as you should, but for many years I never liked Hillary Clinton...and I’m a democrat and a woman! Honestly, I can’t even give you a legitimate reason as to why that was. During the election last year, I was at dinner with some good friends and the topic of Hillary Clinton came up.

At the mention of her name, I scrunched my nose and said, “Ugggh, I just don’t like her at all. Not one little bit.”

When a friend asked me why, I was mortified to realize I didn’t have one legitimate reason. Not a one. I just “didn’t like her looks”. Misogyny at its worst.

Pregnant women who have been polled consistently and overwhelming say that they would prefer a boy over a girl because they are “easier”! And now for another humiliating confession. Due to my mistrust of women, when my former and I decided to start a family, I wanted three of four sons. I was adamant that I didn’t want girls.

After happily and smugly having two sons, I was pregnant with my third child. Women would come up to me and coo like love birds and say, “Oh, are you hoping for a little girl? They are so sweet, special and precious.” To which I would quickly and rudely respond, “HELL NO! I WANT ALL BOYS. BOYS ARE EASIER.”

Shame, shame, shame on me. And thank God I didn’t get any bad Karma which I so richly deserved because the universe disregarded my blatant sexism and gave me two beautiful smart independent amazing daughters who, like my sons, love me with all their hearts. I just tear up at the thought of those amazing creatures.

Which reminds me of the classic Mother-Daughter relationship presumed to be fraught with conflict for years and years until the daughter finally has a child of her own. This supposed tenuous relationship is the fodder for many a book and talk show discussion.

And what about those women who don’t give a crap if a man has a wedding band on his left finger and small children waiting for him at home? As long as he has a penis and a wallet (and let’s face it, it’s the wallet that takes priority), he’s fair game! There’s a hell of a lot of those women running around. Which reminds me, no one really blames the man. But the woman…she’s an immoral Home wrecker! I’m getting so confused.

The reason for my fitful sleep was a website I came across last night…a website for mothers whose ex-husbands have a new wife…the dreaded stepmother! Woe to the woman who has to call herself a stepmother! Before you can even utter the words, “I do”, if you are wife #2 and your new husband has children, you are evil! Mythology and fairy tales promote this hatred of women who are strong enough to marry a man that is a package deal. Stepmothers have always been the easy targets, the go-to person to blame first.

A stepmother starts off her marriage in the red and it’s almost impossible to climb her way out of that kind of inherited debt.

But wait, then I found a website for stepmothers. The forum board was nothing but never ending rants how each one of these women complained about their husband’s ex-wife citing that these women were crazy psychotic bitches who had no concern for their own children.

It reminded me of the many stepmothers I’ve counseled over the years and it suddenly occurred to me that almost without exception, practically every stepmother I’ve worked with has described their husband’s ex-wife as crazy.

CRAZY!

So let me get this straight…mothers are crazy, stepmothers are crazy. That’s a lot of women. I mean, really, doesn’t it just seem statistically impossible that all these women are crazy?

What is the reason for this? Is it ancestrally passed on since the beginning of time when women needed to compete with one another for the attention of males so that they could propagate and be protected? I’m no social researcher or anthropological expert. What I do know is that it is insipid and deeply rooted into the innermost recesses of our psyches.

For a long time I’ve considered myself a feminist, but now I’m questioning myself. Clearly I have some work to do.

So I made a commitment in the wee hours of the morning. I’m starting with me…it’s the only place to start. I’m getting real conscious real quick. I’m making a practice of being mindful of my thoughts, my words and my actions towards women and about women. I’m taking the gigantic log out of my own eye before I try to take the splinter out of another’s. One woman at a time kind of thing.

I’ve often heard it said that if women ruled the world, there would be no wars, no rape, no torture, no hunger.

Really? Maybe I'm sleep deprived. Call me a bitch and call me crazy. But I’m skeptical…really really skeptical.

A Gay Man Straightens Me Out

Wed, 4 Nov 2009 14:11:40 -0500

(Supporters of the repeal of gay marriage celebrate their "victory")

I woke up this morning to unexpected news. Maine had gone mad and had followed in the crazy footsteps of California. Seriously? Please tell me this didn’t happen…again!

Who are these people that are taking away the rights of gay couples to marry? How horrible and close-minded can they be? And then I remembered. Ah, yes, that’s right. I was one of them.

It was an ordinary day. I was six months pregnant with my fourth child. My life was predictable…I made sure it was predictable. I was a full-time mother and devoted Christian. Other than a painting I had recently bought on impulse, a painting with bold bright colors that had unexpectedly begun to open up my closed heart, everything was the same.

I received a grim phone call from one of my sisters. My father, a robust 63-year old man, full of life and optimism, had just been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. His prognosis was more than dismal, as I learned he might not survive the surgery scheduled for the next morning.

With heart pounding and stomach reeling, I quickly packed and left my husband and young children behind to fly to San Francisco. I arrived on a gray day where the fog spilled over the hills like desperate fingers searching for food. I quickly went to the hospital with the gray walls and a gray waiting room where two young gray-faced men sat anxiously waiting.

Upon my arrival, I found that my father was critical but alive and recovering from a not-so-successful surgery. The cancerous tumor had spread into unreachable parts of his brain and there was no good news to be had.

As I stood in his room searching for the right words to say, the air was filled with agonizing screams of pain from a patient in the room next door. The screams were horrific, relentless and excruciating to hear. When a nurse walked in, I asked, “What is going on with that patient? Why can’t you do something, give him something, help him, anything?”

The nurse, tired and spent, quietly explained that he was in the end stages of AIDS, a painful and hideous way to die where there were no pain killers strong enough to alleviate his agony and suffering. She added that the young man had no family present as they had abandoned him and that the two young men, the ones with the gray faces I had seen earlier in the waiting room, were the only ones keeping somber vigil.

(An unidentified AIDS patient)

As I stood there baffled that anyone could abandon their dying child, I thought of the bright smiling face of Anita Bryant, a spokesperson for Florida orange juice. The former Miss America had successfully campaigned several years before to take away the rights of homosexuals in Dade County. I should have felt a kinship with her, a fellow Christian who, like me, was devoting herself to God and family.

(I feel sadness and shame that I was so much like her)

But suddenly, in a decidedly un-Christ-like manner, I wanted to take a crate of Florida oranges and pummel her to a pulp!

I was stunned. I felt like someone had stepped on my chest. My heart was pounding. As my unborn baby moved inside me, I felt paralyzed. How could this be? Why couldn’t they help this young man? Why couldn’t they give him something, anything to stop the terrible pain?

Suddenly, the screaming stopped and shortly afterwards the man was rolled past my father’s room on a gurney. He was young, only in his 30’s. He looked like my husband and he looked like my brothers. There was no family for him there. For them, his disease was repugnant. He was a homosexual. He was an outcast, an abomination. They had abandoned him. His only visitors were the two young men in the waiting room, the men with the gray and anxious faces.

Images of the church and bible studies I attended decrying the sins of homosexuality raced through my mind. Sermons and loud voices declaring to love the sinner and hate the sin shouted in my head.

The screaming had stopped but the echoes of torment hadn’t. Who deserved this type of pain? Who deserved this type of abandonment at the end of their lives? Who had sinned so terribly that they deserved this type of judgment and condemnation?

I was shaken to my core. Everything I believed in began to disintegrate in the wake of the screaming. I walked out to the waiting room. The two young men were gone and I knew that I would never forget them and their terminally ill friend.

Five days later, I went home. I bought books. I read and read. I questioned. I doubted. I looked at myself, at my own harshness, my own assumptions.

I got educated.

I sat my husband and children down and told them we would no longer be going to church. I told them we couldn’t go to the place that condemned people for being the beautiful beings that God had purposefully made them to be. I told them that they were young and that they might be "one of them". I told them that we were all made in the image and grace of God.

My young and innocent children wisely nodded their heads and then jumped and down around the room, as if they had received early Christmas presents.

I left the church and I left the bible studies. I lost many friends. I was judged and I was condemned.

But the screaming in my head stopped. A spaciousness and a clarity blossomed forth…like the bright bold colors in the painting. And for the first time in a long time, I felt free.

Today, I think of the gay men who may be dying alone in Maine and California. I think of the gay couples who had a right stripped away from them by voters ignorant and unknowing, like I had been. I think of the young gay adolescents who may take their own lives today, feeling only despair and shame at a state and a country who stubbornly refuses to acknowledge who they are…people just like them.

Shame on the voters in Maine, in California, and the many other states whose prejudice and fear continue to paralyze them from being open and curious about those who are just a tiny bit different from them.

In reality, the differences are so miniscule, they cannot be seen by the wise and open eyes of compassion.

*Note: This post is part of a post I wrote many months ago, when I was fairly new to Open Salon. There may be a small few who remember it, but for most of you, it will be brand new.

Annual Naked Pumpkin Run Squashed--UPDATE

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 10:10:21 -0400

UPDATE ON THE ANNUAL NAKED PUMKIN RUN!

Part II

If you read my post yesterday (Part I is below), you would know that the Boulder City government had a mountain over a mole hill-size reaction to the thought of naked pumpkin runners and college students and the rest of us celebrating Halloween on the Pearl Street Mall that might be a little too wild for their taste.

The nuns at my Catholic High School were more liberal than them.

Do you want the Good News first or the Bad News first?

Okay fine, the Bad News first:

THERE WAS NOT ONE NAKED PUMPKIN RUNNER...NOT A ONE!

Maybe this will give you a clue as to why:

There were police, police, and more police

And more...

Police in cars, on bikes, on foot...

Many were waiting with anticipation for the Annual Naked Pumpkin Runners...they never came.

A lone sign protesting...to no avail

Ooops....more police

The crowd got excited...could it be a naked pumpkin runner...NO, AN IMPOSTER, A FAKE!

Photo by Will Morgan/ For The Camera (WILL MORGAN)

Another wannabe naked pumpkin runner who didn't want to be labelled a "sex offender"

Now, the Good News:

WE, and 4000 other well-behaved but boisterous people had a Happy Halloween. We were packed onto the mall. There was one arrest and no one noticed. There were outrageous costumes, groups of ninjas running through the crowd, and a lot of kids dressed up as police and swat teams. I got fooled by one of them:

I kind of got excited at the thought of being arrested...but he was a "fake" Swat team cop...I'm so gullible

More Good News:

We took the bus to and from the Pearl Street Mall, and that was a great experience!

Happy people on the bus

Here's what the Daily Camera had to say this morning:

"Forty police officers patrolled the Mall in pairs, and another 60 were spread out around the city. The fire department was on alert to respond quickly to any fires on University Hill, Boulder police spokeswoman Sarah Huntley said.

Police estimated the crowd on the Mall at around 4,000, bigger than estimates from last year but a far cry from the 20,000 to 40,000 people who descended on downtown Boulder in the last years of the Mall Crawl, before police put an end to the rowdy event in 1991.An attempt to revive the Mall Crawl had put police on edge in the weeks leading up to the event. At a 9:30 p.m. media briefing, Boulder Police Chief Mark Beckner said he believed that the police department's efforts to tame the party -- including shutting down parking garages and announcing the large presence of officers -- was working."I've heard people say, 'It's just not worth it. Let's not go down there,'" he said. "Obviously there will always be people who come down to the Mall. The police presence appeared to deter full participation in the annual Naked Pumpkin Run, where people streak down the Mall wearing nothing but carved-out pumpkins on their heads. Around 11:20 p.m., three people with jack-o-lanterns on their heads ran down Pearl Street, prompting officers to descend on the area. But the three people covered what they needed to cover to be within the law."

I do want to say something positive here about the police who were only doing their jobs as had been mandated to them by Chief Mark Beckner (the same Chief Mark Beckner who arrived unannounced at the doors of the two young men who were promoting the Mall Crawl on their Facebook pages...the same Chief Mark Beckner who was trying to intimidate these young men with threats of legal recourse until the ACLU stepped in and got them to back off.).

The police I saw joked with the crowds, took pictures of the party revelers and had smiles on their faces. They took a fair amount of guff from some of the more obnoxious revelers who'd had perhaps maybe a few too many.

The Mall Crawl made a successful comeback...and that's a good thing. The restaurants and bars were packed. People were good natured and gracious to one another, even as we were bumping and slamming into each other in the tunnel-neck places of the Mall.

Looking back at the night (I went to sleep at 3:30 AM), the scene was wild but not wicked. And that's the part that makes me feel like Chief Mark Beckner got exactly what he wanted...naked pumpkin runners may be a thing of the past.

And that just feels un-American.

PART I

Photo courtesy of nakedpumpkingrun.org

Boulder, Colorado is perceived as a liberal "it is what it is" kind of town. Images of flower children and free love come to people's mind when they think of Boulder. Forbes Magazine rated it the #1 smartest city in America and the most educated.

Apparently, none of the smart people are in charge of making the decisions for its citizens. Last year, during the Annual Pumpkin Naked Run, the local paper reported there were some 100 runners. I was there (with clothes on thank you very much) and was witness to at least 300 hundred naked pumpkin runners streaking down Pearl Street Mall.

Just some good ole fashioned family fun.

This may sound strange, but it was as American as apple pie.

The hour was late, the children had been safely tucked in their beds, the crowd was happy and supportive. Fun and good natured joking filled the air.

The humorless police dampened the spirits of 15 runners who were ticketed with indecent exposure and the threat of being listed as sex offenders. These 15 people were made up of professionals and professors, students and housewives. They may as well have been forced to walk around town with a shirt with a big orange X plastered all over it.

This year, the fascists, I mean, City of Boulder, are getting serious. I found this in the Daily Camera this morning:

In an effort to keep rowdy crowds out of downtown Boulder during Saturday night's Halloween celebration, the city will close off access to six parking garages and is even considering shutting down U.S. 36.

Boulder officials announced Friday that the city will close off its downtown parking garages from 9 p.m. Saturday until 2 a.m. Sunday.

As for the Naked Pumpkin Run, I found this:

Naked pumpkins: It's not clear whether the annual Naked Pumpkin Run will happen this year on Pearl Street, but police have threatened to arrest anyone who doesn't cover up.

Mall Crawl?: Two local men last month called, via Facebook, for a revival of the costumed event, which drew 40,000 people to the Pearl Street Mall at its peak in 1989. Police have since asked that they stop promoting the event; one of them agreed.

What the Camera failed to mention is that the two local men who were calling for a renewal of the Mall Crawl through Facebook were threatened with legal action if they did not stop promoting the event. Hmmmm, is anyone else thinking, WHAT HAPPENED TO FREE SPEECH?

I love Boulder, Colorado...a place I've called home for over 26 years. Its beauty is unmatched, its citizens conscious and aware...but I find this more than disturbing.

You know you're in trouble when the dumbing down of American involves Boulder, Colorado.

And for the first time, I have to agree with those who refer to Boulder as The People's Republic of Boulder because today it is.

Closing down taxpayer funded parking lots, threatening to shut down US 36, the only major highway between Boulder and Denver, giving out indecent exposure tickets, threatening labels as sex offenders...well, it's not only dumb, it seems unconstitutional.

When you try to get any details on this event, the source to go to is nakedpumpkinrun.org, but they've become paranoid; you have to send them a private email to get information. They're being watched and they know it.

Talk about scary.

No worries! As your loyal Open Salon Reporter, I'll be on Pearl Street tonight to report on the event...or non-event. Should there be any naked pumpkin runners who dare to defy the powers that be, I'll be on hand to investigate and report.

Should any pictures leak of this event, and should there be a picture of a naked runner that bears any resemblance to ME in any way, shape or form, the likeness will be purely coincidental.

I know that I should end this post by saying 'Happy Halloween", but given the repressive nature of the Boulder City government, all I can say is BAH HUMBUG.

Rejection

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 14:10:13 -0400

Rejection: verb; dismiss as inadequate, inappropriate, or not to one’s taste.

Rejection is a necessary and unavoidable part of being a human being. Some would argue that rejection is good…it keeps our egos in check, keeps us humble, and helps us to become more compassionate and empathetic people.

But in the moment, let’s face it. Rejection sucks.

I remember the various rejections in my life…the ones that still sting just a little when the images of them flash through my mind and bring me back in time to that moment…the moment when the face turned crimson red, the heart sank, and the self-doubts hung around like mosquitoes on a hot muggy day.

Why wasn’t I good enough?

Why wasn’t I smart enough?

Why didn’t people like me?

Back in the day, I was at a junior high school dance. I watched from a distance as a boy repeatedly asked various girls to dance with him, only to be met with rejection over and over again. After his last rebuff, I watched him go sit with his friends in dejection, his body slumped down in the chair, his bangs hanging over his eyes as he stared down at the wooden floor of the school gymnasium.

My heart ached for him and I couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain. In a move, bold and rare for a skinny and scrawny 13-year-old girl, I approached him in that crowded sweaty prepubescent room. I leaned down and said, “Would you like to dance?”

His head popped up and when he saw who was asking him, he laughed, no guffawed! “HELL NO!” he shouted, as he poked his nearest buddy, and they both threw their heads back and laughed.

My face turned poker hot red, as I quickly turned away, spurned by the boy I had felt so much tenderness for only moments before. The self-doubts rushed in:

Why wasn’t I good enough?

Why wasn’t I smart enough?

Why didn't he like me?

It was to be the beginning of many rejections from boys who didn’t find me wild enough, interesting enough, curvy enough.

Years later, the rejection of my father still remains a permanent stain on this child’s heart. I was his only daughter out of five to graduate from college. I paid my own way because my parents didn’t see the reasoning in my getting a college degree. After all, why bother? I would only get married and a man would take care of me.

I approached my father in a move, bold and rare for one who didn’t see herself as important enough to have ever asked the question before.

“Dad, you know, I’m your only daughter to graduate from college. Aren’t you proud of me?”

He was lost in a world of paperwork and business affairs. His answer came back like an irritation…a distracted response to a silly question.

“Yes, Mary, I suppose it's good you graduated from college, but Joan’s the one that should have gone. She’s the brilliant one.”

It was one of the more shaming moments of my life, and as I slinked quietly away, I thought to myself:

Why wasn’t I good enough?

Why wasn’t I smart enough?

Why didn't he like me?

Even more years later, after 18 years of marriage and four children, I loved my husband. But in a story that is older than time itself, he found someone else…someone younger, prettier, and someone that made him happier.

Of course, the reasons people divorce are complicated and many, and I’ve yet to meet a divorced couple who agrees on why they got divorced; I was not a victim and it wasn’t that simple…I had much to own in the disintegration of my marriage, but at the time, all I could think was:

Why wasn’t I good enough?

Why wasn’t I pretty enough?

Why wasn’t I smart enough?

Five months ago, a reputable literary agent discovered my writing through Open Salon. He thought I was a “terrific” writer and would I be willing to consider him as an agent? Did I have a book in mind?

I spent hours and days, weekends and evenings writing a book proposal about my life transformations. I sent it to him with great hope and expectations several weeks ago, and the waiting began.

I woke up early this morning to a gray and cold day. Conspiring with the weather, an email from the agent arrived and there was no ray of sunshine to brighten up the dismal day.

My voice was strong but not strong enough. The writing was good, but not good enough. The humor was funny, but not funny enough.

Rejection hit me like an unexpected slap in the face. And I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.

Those familiar red-faced feelings came rushing back like an unexpected rush of wind on an otherwise calm day. I could feel the familiar sense of warmth as it spread over my face. I felt mortified, humiliated, like the child who gets their hand slapped as they reach for the cookies, just hot out of the oven.

But here is where the good news comes in. Yes, the voices were there. The voices that ask the perpetual questions…why wasn’t I good enough, smart enough? But they were dim and faded. I’m older and wiser. I know that I’m not all that. I knew it was a shot in the dark. And the Rejection certainly didn’t nullify my value as a human being.

Tomorrow, I turn fifty-five. FIFTY FRIGGIN FIVE! How can that be? I don’t feel like whatever turning fifty-five is supposed to feel like. I am not my mother, the mother who at the same age had resigned herself to a life of quiet domesticity, wiling away the hours playing Solitaire while she waited for my father to finish working so he could take her away from the boredom of an uneventful life.

Tomorrow, I board a plane for a flight that my oldest son bought for me. “Mom, it’s your birthday and your other son and I know what you value most…time with those you love. So we want to spend your birthday weekend with you. We’ll do whatever you want…hike, go to the beach, out to dinners, a movie if you want. Whatever you say, we’ll do. We can’t wait to be with you." My beautiful and older and wiser sister Just Cathy is picking me up at the airport with another wonderful sister in tow. My cup runneth over.

So, really, a little rejection now and then is a good thing. It jolts us back to the reality of what is really important in our lives.

I can take rejection from a pimply-faced boy, a father who was clueless when it came to understanding the effects of his words, a husband who needed to move on to greener pastures, and an agent who just didn’t think I had what it takes.

I have the love of an amazing husband, four great children and my loyal friends.

So, like the Stuart Smalley character on Saturday Night Live, on this day of rejection, I can honestly say:

I’m Good Enough.

I’m Smart Enough.

And Doggone It, People Like Me!

Note: In no way, do I have any intention of denigrating the agent who gave me such a wonderful opportunity. He sought me out, encouraged me, wrote me a heartfelt rejection letter that included support and positivity. I will be forever grateful to him.